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Wednesday, October 3, 2012

put down the paintbrush

I've got so many questions today.

Where does paint go? I mean, I bought a GALLON of paint (in "Baby Buttercup" for those of you who care) for the hallway and the first layer got SUCKED into the wall like I was painting a dry sponge. We had the walls painted when we built this house...is there some sort of drywall absorption that I don't know about? Does paint flake off over time and get swept away? Does paint evaporate? Did we have bad painters who skimped on the work first time around?

That gallon almost didn't make it through both coats. I was down to scraping the bottom of the can.

Why do I think painting a room will be no big deal and then it ends up being a TOTAL big deal? I've spent a day on this and I'm still not done cleaning up and "resetting" the room. I've got pictures to hang up, a floor to clean and nasty bits of painters tape to scrape off. And my shoulders hurt. (Yeah, I totally typed that while using my whiny inner voice--should I have used italics?) Hu-urt. That's better.

Where were Opie's kids last night? And his mother? That seemed like an uncharacteristic lapse in the flawless continuity I've come to expect from Kurt Sutter. Ashley Tisdale's guest role makes me applaud her agent. Brilliant crossover role from Disney, isn't it? Drama teen queen/fashionista on Disney TV to prostitute on Sons of Anarchy. I do so like Jimmy Smits as Nero.

My manuscript project got rejected. I've come to expect that, sadly. And I'm sitting on a really good novel, but I can't get anyone, not even my literary agent, take a look at it. All this rejection makes it even less appealing to sit down and grind out revisions on my current manuscript. Writing is desolate stuff, I tell you.

But I'm having another good hair day, I've got leftovers in the fridge so I can skip making dinner tonight and it's kind of nice outside, despite the fog.

15 comments:

Have you thought about self publishing? Big pub houses are picking up some self pubs that quite honestly aren't even that good IMO, and selling them. Of course they're also finding really good stuff, too. I've read a couple books that I can't believe nobody bought (especially when you compare it to some of the total crap trad publishing is selling).

And painting. OMG. I feel your pain. DOTR's office needs it. And I'm only on trim. In the foyer. After that comes the ceiling. Then the walls. Then the doors. Then I move on to scraping wallpaper again in Office #1. Ugh.

Fall came to Nebraska. Or, rather, it's coming. Today's high was 82 but the forecast is a high of 61 tomorrow and 55 on Friday. As I slipped into sandals today, I thought this was probably the last day for them this year. I sobbed quietly and briefly.

Himself just opened his own business and did some minor construction to make the space into what he wanted. It seemed like he was painting forever - one night I asked him if he was done yet and he said, "I think I will never finish. I swear that hall keeps getting longer and longer!"

Somehow expecting disappointment doesn't really make it easier to bear, does it? I'm sorry for the rejection, that sucks.

My questions:

How did I injure my Achilles tendon and when will it stop hurrrrrting?

Why are there no lace-up shoes that are as comfortable as tennies and also cute?

Do I really have to pass Macroeconomics to graduate from college? Can't they make an exception for people who actually contributed to the economy for years before going back to school?

Well, dammit. That kind of steady rejection is beyond disheartening. I'm so sorry. I don't know if you ever visited blogger Diesel's place when he was still blogging regularly, but he decided to take it into his own hands and has been writing and writing and self-publishing these last few years. He's sold, I do believe, more than 60,000 of his first novel by now, and he's written at least three more since then. Anyhow, I'm becoming a convert to the idea that traditional publishing, with all its roadblocks, is going to become passe as more and more writers do it themselves.

If you've sat through a Pampered Chef party, this read's for you.

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The Reigning Queen of Team Testosterone lives on 60 acres of fields, prairie, woods and gardens. Her duties include: mothering/carting around her three bachelors, writing, PTA president, church volunteer, watering and planting, and housewivery ...not necessarily in that order.